Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Rules for Challenges

Finally Home

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking

Summary: Someone has to make sure Slayers move on after death. Wishverse.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Dead Like MeShalaDakiriFR72690031,7282 Aug 124 Sep 12Yes

Chapter 2

He'd taken this assignment as a favor. He'd been passing through the town and the locals had a massacre to Reap. They had no time to deal with a transient only in town long enough to die.

The irony being her death was due to trying to stop said massacre. Not that she'd been entirely successful, but when they'd seen the caged people at the factory, they'd all known there should have been a lot more post-its.

As his fellow Reapers dealt with the rest of the dead, he approached the soul he'd taken. Unlike many of the others, she wasn't pleading to be sent back or demanding more time. She didn't even seem shocked and her first question sounded more like a soldier waiting for orders than a freshly-dead soul wanting to know what was next.

When she finally looked up, he saw something in her eyes she'd been missing before she died: hope. Even his admission he didn't know what, exactly, would happen on the other side didn't dampen it. Her only request, to wait for the rest of the dead to pass on before her, was an easy one to grant and as each soul left, she seemed a bit lighter; a bit younger.

By the time her lights formed, the warrior and protector she'd clearly been in life was gone, replaced with a kid who just wanted to go home. An impression only reinforced by the scene waiting for her. She stared at it for a long moment before speaking.

"I'm really done? I can go home now?"

The obvious longing made him smile reassuringly, "You just have to go in."

She tore her eyes away from the glowing house. Her return smile seemed a bit off, as though she'd forgotten how, "Thank you."

"Go on. You can rest."

He watched her sprint up the porch and yank the door open. As she disappeared into her lights, he could imagine hearing her call to whoever waited for her.

The local supervisor came up next to hime, "Kids like that are always rough."

"I know. You either hate taking away a future, or you hate the fact a kid's got nothing left."

"Which one was yours?"

He closed his eyes, remembering the girl's longing for whatever was in the house, "I think she died a long time ago."

As he followed the other Reapers out, he let a single post-it drift to the floor:

B. Summers
Blood Extraction Facility
3:28 a.m.

The End

You have reached the end of "Finally Home". This story is complete.

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking